Down The Rabbit Hole
by vacant houses
Summary: One-shot. Some thought processes are endless. An author insert inside an author insert to end all author inserts. Or rather, a self-insert about failing to write a self-insert.


TMNT= Not Mine

Written because I said I should try my hand at one of these. The result was somewhat strange but you should be used to that from me anyway.

For Dee. All my crack is. Even the ones that had nothing to do with her in the first place.

* * *

Okay, okay. This, as they say, is where it gets complicated.

So there I was, right. Sitting at my bed/desk, thinking about writing up a TMNT fic like I seem to be doing a lot lately when- wham.

In the lair.

Being the (un)observant person that I am, I immediately took note. By which, I mean, I sorta just sat there; my head churning out plots with my laptop on my knees and uh, daydreaming my life away. I could have been there for hours. I think I was like that for hours.

Turns out it was about five seconds.

Okay, look. I know what I'm doing. Well. What I'm trying to do. And quite frankly, it's not going to work. No. Wait. We haven't got to the explanations yet. Plus, you've made it this far and probably want to read something about turtles of the teenage mutant variety. Let's get back to me, inside the lair.

Someone heaved a great sigh. Apparently while I was preoccupied being completely and utterly useless and confusing, the turtles had made an entrance.

Donatello was scanning me with some sort of device. "It's another one of those crazy fanfiction authors," he informed his brothers with a tone of long suffering.

"Not another author insert," Michelangelo groaned. "How the hell do you guys keep finding us?"

Donatello looked like he was about to launch into a long winded explanation about metaphysics and the fourth wall. Because I'm the author of this fic, we can skip all that. Whoops. I'm cheating. And I was going to hold off the explanations. Back to the turtles then.

"Alright," Leonardo said, with the air of someone about to undertake an unpleasant task such as cleaning a communal toilet, "Let's hear it. What sort of havoc have you come to wreak?" Unspoken were the words, 'you crazy demented fangirl. AGAIN. Sigh.'

I blinked. "Uh. Don't mind me," I said, "I'm going to go and sit in a corner somewhere while I write my fic. Carry on with your general business and pretend I'm not here."

The mutant family eyed me suspiciously. "That's it?" Michelangelo asked, dubiously. "No awkward author to character interaction? No attempting to hit on Raphael? No gushing about why I'm better than the rest of my brothers? No apologizing for the horrendous things you put us through in your fics? NO ROLE PLAYING?" The turtle became increasingly hysterical as he went through his questions.

"Noope," I answered and scooted away to the aforementioned corner. "I'm just going to sit here and, yeah. Just sit here and write."

"Well, that doesn't sound ominous at all," Raphael muttered under his breath.

The four turtles stared at me for several minutes. Then:

"Is this a trap?" Leonardo wondered out loud.

"No."

A few more minutes passed. "What _kind _of fic are you writing?" Michelangelo asked brightly.

"An author insert," I answered.

The turtle frowned at me for a moment whilst his brothers exchanged suspicious glances. Raphael might have muttered, 'I knew it was a trap," under his breath.

"Oooh," Mikey said, "An author insert about you writing an author insert. It's like Inception."

"If you crack an Inception joke, I will hurt you," Raphael promised.

Mikey shot his brother a disappointed look but Raphael was immune to such tactics. "Still," he said, "That's clever!"

"Don't say that," I replied automatically.

"Wait, what?" Mikey asked, crestfallen.

"You can't compliment me. That's just egotistical."

Donatello nodded in agreement. "By establishing that this is an author insert, the audience is aware that the characters are just constructs made by the author. Anything we say is just something that the author is thinking. Ergo, if we compliment the author, it's really just the author complimenting herself."

Raphael rolled his eyes. "So it's like what happens in all those lame angst fics where one of us has written emo poems and the rest of us think they are the best thing ever. That's just the author giving themselves a pat on the back?"

"Yep," Don affirmed.

"It's like watching a puppet show," I added. "You are not supposed to see the puppeteer otherwise the magic is gone."

Don frowned at me. "How correct is that analogy anyway? You've never seen a puppet show," he accused.

"Aaaand we're not going down that path either. The audience doesn't need to know things about my life or myself as a person. It will add nothing to this fic. If we reference anything about me, it's essentially me making in-jokes and I'm the only person who will get them. Sorta like Turtles Forever but way lamer. Like lameness times infinity."

"You do realise you're not going to have a lot to write about," Leonardo pointed out.

"Yep," I answered. "I can tell you right now that there are going to be a lot of these awkward pauses."

The four mutants stared at me again. There was less suspicion this time but it was still as uncomfortable as before. "Is Splinter going to make an appearance?" Leo asked. He sounded rather miserable about this question. "He's a vital part of this family and yet, more often than not, he feels optional."

"I thought we'd spare him the indignity of dealing with an author insert."

Another awkward pause ensued. "Look," Raphael sighed impatiently, "What is the point of you writing one of these things if you weren't going to do it a way that would actually give you something to write about? The way things are going we're probably going to end up in limbo or some shit because reality goes on hold while you're trying to figure stuff out."

"Errr," I said intelligently.

"When was the last time you even read an author insert?" Don asked pointedly.

"A year ago?" I guessed. The turtles frowned at me. "A year and a half?"

"That sounds about right," Leonardo sighed.

"Maybe you're going about this the wrong way," Michelangelo said, "Maybe you should try a different sort of insert."

"I don't like the sound of this plan."

"But lots of fanfiction writers love self inserts," he protested. "Surely you want to be the newest member of the Hamato family? Come on; pick a weapon and a ridiculous name."

"No thanks," I said, "That's overstepping the bounds of the author-character relationship. And it's taking narcissism to the extreme."

"What?" Mikey's eyes widened in horror and confusion, "Wha-no! I meant you could be a sister Sue character. They are all levels of craziness and self-absorbance."

"Even the sister Sues aren't exempt from romance with you guys. And why would I want to toss you out of the limelight? I mean, the characters are the reason I'm a fan. It seems kind of pointless writing myself into a fic."

Michelangelo flopped onto the couch with a groan. "But you are! You are doing it right now! Are you seriously going to spend the rest of this self-insert writing in a corner?" He asked.

"Yep."

"Let me get this straight," Raphael cut in impatiently, "If you were to insert yourself into our universe, you would try to be as unobtrusive and passive as possible?"

"Yep."

"Woah, big words Raphael," Michelangelo quipped. "Do you even know what they mean?"

"Shut up," Raph snarled, "They aren't mine. I would ask you if you know the meaning but we know what they mean since we both were spawned from this author's mind."

Michelangelo settled back and turned his attention back to me. "You," he informed me, "Have got to be the most boring author to ever write an author insert. There are so many interesting things we could be discussing right now. But noooo, you've chosen to acknowledge that we're just products of your own mind and therefore everything that we say is just an extension of what you're thinking and we already know it. Thanks a lot. And you've forbidden me and therefore yourself from making Inception jokes. You suck."

"Insulting yourself," Donatello wondered, "Is that a sign of insanity?"

"No," Leonardo sighed, "It's just a sign of an overactive imagination. We're just going round in circles here. Why did you break the fourth wall anyway?"

"I did not," I responded indignantly, "That was a natural by-product of writing an insert. Poof, it's gone. I did not intend to end up here."

"Yes you did. This whole thing was your intentions from the very beginning," Leo pointed out.

At this point, I'm pretty sure the situation was clear and spending any more time with the turtles would be pointless. I told myself that I was going to write a self-insert in order to expand my writing experience repertoire. It is no one's fault but my own that I'm incapable of interacting with the characters when I'm no longer the shapeless narrator.

I'm not in the lair. I am where I've always have been and that's someplace that is not relevant to the readers. Everything is clearly inside my head and I'm afraid the illusion of a story has been shattered. If I continue with this story, all you'll be doing is reading into me. This is not what I'm here for and not what you're here for either. The characters are the reasons why we're fans, are they not? The narrator should never be so self-absorbed to forget about what is important, which has never been them and never will be them. You are here to read about the turtles and I'm here to write about the turtles.

So let's just get on with it, hmm?


End file.
